


First Aid: The Russian Way

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bubble Bath, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, answered prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby clears her throat and he glances back down to her, holding an arm out to her as she jerks her dark head towards the bathroom in a silent communication. The color returns to his face and he nods at her.  She wraps her fingers around the crook of his elbow and tugs on him to walk like they’re on a fancy date in the city. He cradles her arm, walks her along the back of the couch of their hotel room. He leads her towards the bathroom at her insistence. When he lets go of her at the door, she simply tugs him further inside the hotel suite’s over-sized bathroom. </p>
<p>Their shared room is part of their cover yet again. They have an extra long counter top with two sinks and a claw foot tub that’s big enough to swim in. Gaby tugs on Illya’s arm softly, “I need a little bit more help.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Aid: The Russian Way

“How is your head?” His voice draws her attention and Gaby looks up from the fashion magazine in her fingers. There’s a white bandage that holds her bangs down, a faint red splotch bleeds through the gauze but it’s not enough to cause alarm yet. Her face is a little pale and she has bruising all down her arms and no doubt further along the edges of her body.

“Hurts,” Gaby makes a face, a soft frown etches over her lips and she reaches up to scratch at the bandages for a moment but Illya’s hand swoops in and he pulls her hand back gently. His fingers are long enough to wrap around her whole wrist. He stays gentle with her though, keeping his fingers light as he shakes his blonde head to her carefully. 

“You should not itch it.” He chastises her softly, humming as she makes a face. Their latest mission has them in Madrid, where Gaby took a head-first injury in chasing down their marks, nearly running them off the road in a stolen car. She almost succeeded when she ran out of road and road into a guardrail. The steering wheel hit her hard, broke the skin and bruised her bones. Illya had pulled her from the car while Solo tracked down a new vehicle. That had been the day before, now they were stuck indoors, waiting on their mark to return. They were stuck inside their shared hotel suite, another mission with yet another married cover. His ring still sparkled on her left hand. Gaby parts her lips to speak again, drawing Illya's attention away from the ring on her finger to her face.

“It itches,” She has a tinge of a whine in her voice as she shifts against the couch, her legs swinging over. Her dress rides high up her thighs and color stains his cheeks. He glances away like a good man, and averts his eyes to the ceiling as she stands on shaky legs, “Illya, would help me?” 

She clears her throat and he glances back down to her, holding an arm out to her as she jerks her dark head towards the bathroom in a silent communication. The color returns to his face and he nods at her. She wraps her fingers around the crook of his elbow and tugs on him to walk like they’re on a fancy date in the city. He leads her towards the bathroom at her insistence. When he lets go of her at the door, she simply tugs him further inside the hotel suite’s over-sized bathroom. Their shared room is part of their cover. They have an extra long counter top with two sinks and a claw foot tub that’s big enough to swim in. Gaby tugs on Illya’s arm softly, “I need a little bit more help.” 

“It is not -- ah,” He loses his words, turning another shade of red and it makes her laugh all soft and breathy, she shakes her head softly to him, pointing at the bandages as if to make a point. Though she secretly shines at the way he blushes so easily around her. Ever since Rome all they've done is dance and dance around one another. Each time think she thinks she'll get a kiss, the door swings open or the telephone rings, or worse the world is in desperate need of saving. They never seem to catch a break, never seem to get that final push into one another.

“I just need to keep this dry or changed. Or I could get Solo to do it for me." She looks up at him through thick lashes. His blush darkens and he clears his throat at the thought of her asking Napoleon.

“I will change them for you.” Illya moved for the tub and turned on the tap. He started with the hot water, turning it on scalding before adding a touch of cool water to make it comfortable for her. He moves for the small bottle of soap and dumps it in, sitting on the edge of the tub. He hears the rustle of clothing and then a bare leg crosses his vision. His blue eyes goes wide and his throat constricts. He looks away just in time for her to sink low into the bubbles of the bath. 

A sigh leaves her lips and he finally looks up at her. She’s perfectly covered with a thick foam of bubbles and she lays her head back against the lip of the tub. Reaching over he pulls on the edge of her white bandage. Gaby winces as he pulls apart the bandage. It sticks to her skin for a moment, drawing a soft whine from her. He cups water in his hands and runs it over her forehead, shielding her eyes. He washes away the dry flakes of blood, keeps the edges of her wound clean. Gaby sinks boneless into the hot water, toes breaking the surface as she slides a smooth leg up. Water slips over her skin and he forces himself to look away. Illya makes himself busy, finding the first-aid kit just to pull out new gauze and antiseptic cream. His fingers card through her dark hair, he helps wash away the grime of their mission, carefully untangling the snarls as she runs the bar of soap over her skin. Soft sighs keep leaving her, she enjoys the heat of the bath with her muscles relaxing as she uncoils like an old mattress spring. 

“Illya,” She breathes out his name and closes her eyes as he rinses out her hair. He is very careful with her, dabbing a dry towel around her bruised cut, running a thumb of cream over the spot. She winces and he smiles, telling her to hold her breath as he dabs at the wound once more. Her brows furrow down and her lips purse but he enjoys the sour look she gives him as he gathers her hair up, tying it expertly around in a small bun. His hands drag away from her hair and drift down to the edges of her jaw. He holds her face carefully in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the curve of her high cheekbone. She has a faint bruising along her shoulders and cheek from the crash but overall she is well. Her color has returned and her smile tells him so many more things as she leans into this hold. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks softly and she nods in his hold before he lets go. His hands smooth back up to her temples and he wraps a new strip of gauze around her head slowly. He is gentle, careful not to put too much pressure on her as he ties it off. The bubbles in the tub are starting to dissipate and she’s sitting perfectly still for him, hugging her knees and holding her breath like he’s told her, before blowing it out in a soft sigh. The bubbles float across the top of the water and she smiles up at him, amused at her own antics as he leans over the lip of the tub one last time. His lips are dry and chapped as they press over her temple, just under the lip of the bandage. 

“What was that for?” Gaby asks softly and he smiles against her damp skin before leaning back, to give her a fresh towel. He doesn’t look at her when she shifts to stand.

He doesn’t even dare a glance as he swallows softly, feeling her step out next to him and into the warm towel. Illya wraps it expertly around her, letting his arms linger for a moment. He hugs her tight and buries his nose against the crown of her dark head, inhaling the clean scent of the hotel soap, “It is get well kiss.” 

His voice is muffled against her head and she wraps a damp arm around the middle of his suit, enjoying the feel of the fabric against her skin. She hums softly, “I think I need a few more of those.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the Anon who left me the prompt: "Please write some of Illya taking care of Gaby during a mission!" I do hope you enjoy this little short piece! All mistakes are my own and I always accept prompts @tulipsohhare.


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